The Man in Cloak
by Sugar Bun-buns
Summary: Harry Potter is a college student with a knack for ending up in the wrong places at the wrong times, so its no surprise to anyone (really!) when he bumps into a strange man bloodied and bruised in an alleyway claiming to be a wizard from a magical dimension-oh and Harry's just stumbled upon a hidden war that determines the fate of his world.


**DISCLAIMER** : I don't own Harry Potter or any of the other familiar characters. Harry Potter and the magical world if Hogwarts (and the like) belong to J.K. Rowling. No money is being made from this.

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 **A/N:** _Hello everyone! And welcome to my first ever published fanfiction! Though I'm not a stranger to reading fanfics, I'm just so excited about others actually reading mine. Please read, relax, and review. /^_^/ This story shall have smut, romance, spooky darkness, a snarky yet oblivious to romantic advances Severus Snape, a Voldemort that really is evil and twisted, and a ditzy (but not too ditzy) Harry Potter. Please tell me if there are any things in the story that may need tweaking and such. I'm open to ideas or just friendly coversations. I love making new friends! Enjoy! ^o^_

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England had many a history and even more so in secrets. Two worlds in one; the latter being magical. It was said that nearly a millennium before, our world and that of another were so adjoined together that there was no end to its beginning-a seemingless dividend.

The combined words were so co-dependent on each other that they soon ceast to consider themselves as "You are" and "They are"... until the war began.

No one truly knows what happened nor who started it, all they understood was that the peace that once existed was gone; that no matter how similar they seemed to be, they were absolutely different in ways too inconceivable to mention. So it was with that frame of thought that the great ones from the magical dimension arose together and sealed the veil that separated our world from that of theirs. Never to be heard of again.

Until now.

It was in that very area that the great veil was sealed that, through time passed was converted into a graveyard, a gathering of sorts was taking place.

Several black cloaked figures moved towards a clearing, several feet away from the ancient ruins that once held the veil between two worlds.

Like a beacon, these apparations of cloaked characters seemed to be heading towards a lone man-that is if you could even call it a man- who sat upon a throne decorated with pure gold and scattered jewels. He sat upon this kings' seat with such an air of authority; of respect; of solid cold bleakness; and emptiness that one could not help but feel as if they were just a speck of dust beneath him.

The cloaked arrivals crowded around this man-creature that looked to be in the form of a reptilian and bowed. When at last the final cloaked person apparated into the clearing and fell on his knees in a show of boundless submission, did the man-creature fully reveal his face and the moonlight struck it.

The brilliance of the moons' light showed eyes the color of liquid blood; face as flat as the earth's surface with two slits that could be considered nostrils when they flared as it took in to fearful scent that wafted through the field.

"Arissssse, my sssssubjectssss." Hissed the snake-like creature. The cloaked silhouettes stood up, their heads still bowed.

"Now...my pet," The creature spoke, "Do...not...be to...hasssssty."

A responding hiss accompanied by a large serpent slithered between the legs of the surrounding members and they held their wands in a death-grip, oh so very scared.

"MacNair," The snake-man nodded to a cloaked figure to his left. A round faced, bronze-haired man stepped forward to speak.

"Lord Voldemort, My king, My lord, I have news of a werewolf resistance in the north of the south of Norsgrove... th-they have sided with Dumbledore and have chosen to deny your very generous offer to join our ranks, Your Lordship. I-I believe they will try to influence others as well."

Voldemort-the name of the snake creature- nodded lightly. "Next," he said.

MacNair stepped back and another claimed his place.

Fenrir, a feral and wild looking man that bore the bite of a werewolf spoke, "My Lord, I have gathered"-he said that with a hint of sarcasm-"more recruits and have begun training them to shift far beyond the silver moon. Some are more...defiant than others and-"

Voldemort raised his hand and Fenrir became quiet.

"That...will...do, Fenrir."

He bowed. "Thank you, My Lord"

"I know...you will...not disssssapoint...me...aaasssss...a certain little rat haaasssss...issssn't that...right...Mr. Petigrew? My ever so coward."

Suddenly, a pudgy, balding blond man gasped and fell to his knees. His veins began bulging as if they were trying to jump out from his skin; his unkept exterior turned an unnatural shade of blue as he grasped for breath.

"P-P-Please!" He gasped again. "M-m-mast-AH!" He began to make gurgling sounds...chocking on his very own saliva.

Voldemort ignored him since, I suppose, in his mind, Peter Petigrew was nothing more of an insolent _thing_ that utterly cease to exist. Lord Voldemort or Tom Riddle as he was once know as several decades ago, beckoned for others to come forth and retell their accomplishments of their days missed when not in his presence.

"My Lord, Dumbledore has created seals in the villages of Yorkshire and Surrey,"

"Two towns were raided by my men and other Death Eaters from within the coup. We managed to kill the Rutherford family, yet a lone victim escaped, a young boy of the father's..."

"As of June, we have ransacked one of the ministries of magic's safe-houses and discovered nothing of importance. It would seem that they were prepared. Someone was-"

And so it went on and on 'till the moon began to wane, yet Voldemort listened silently. When finally the last cloaked crusader stepped forward, the man kneeled towards his master and had the rare pleasure of kissing the hems of his robes gingerly.

"My Lord," He said this with utmost love and devotion that one could hardly negate his loyalty. He breathed solely for his Majesty's will.

"Ssseverusss, my child" Voldemort crooned, "You...are late."

Severus stayed kneeling, his head lowered even more so in shame.

"Master Voldemort, " Severus said in deep baritones, "There can be no excuse for my failure and for that I am gravely sorry. I was being held by that meddlesome, old fool, Dumbledore. He and a member of the Ministry of Magic were discussing about a new method on how to eradicate the dementors out from the territory you've claimed."

"Aaand Ssssseverusss..." Voldemort hissed and glided back to his conjured throne, where he sat down languely. Every movement was false...calculated. Never truly decisive as that of a predator. "Have...they... yet..dissssovered...a...way?"

"No, My Lord. They have not. Your magic far surpasses theirs. You are an entity on it's own."

Voldemort kept quiet. He stared long and hard at the prostrating man before him...and then he smiled.

Now as you all know or are aware of, a dark and mad villain should never smile. Happiness is a twisted emotion that may never reach the hearts of the truly damned and Voldemort is no exception.

There was a shift amongst the rest of the death eaters. A smiling Voldemort meant only one thing and Severus dreaded with every fiber of his being the soon to be inevitable.

Voldemort rose again, glided to Severus, and gently petted him.

"Be good now, Ssseveruss" He hummed.

Severus braced himself for the torture that would soon follow.

"I...will have...to...punissssh...you...CRUCIO!"

An electric green light struck Severus and his body jumped and contorted in intangible ways; his left arm twisted like a rusted old pole; the other curled back and forth atop the grass, failing like a fish out of water; the veins on his swallow skin screamed profanities; and his lower half moved all on its own, detached.

"Sectumsempra!" shouted MacNair.

"Crucio!" exclaimed Fenrir.

"Imperius!" yelled another.

Hex after hex was spelled, each from every member of death eaters in the clearing.

You see, they formed a sort of glee from inflicted torture. The same one as that of a targeted victim avenging their tormentor.

Yet with all this, Severus made no sound. Not one, that is excluding the original gasp that appeared when Voldemort first struck him with the unforgivable curse.

This lasted for several minutes but to Severus it seemed like an eternity. By the time the last hex had worn off, the rest of the death eaters had already dispersed, including Voldemort. He simply vanished.

Bloodied and bruised, Severus could barley breath from neither his mouth or his nose without his nerves-or lack thereof- shuddering vigorously in excruciating pain. He knew he wouldn't die...not yet anyway. Lord Voldemort had a tendency to keep those he deemed "valuable" or "useful" alive in order to serve him.

Death felt like just a step away and if Severus was not a man of strong will and purpose, he would have gladly embraced death and proclaimed him his new master. But he couldn't do that. There was too much at stake. For both sides...so why couldn't he move his legs?...was he supposed to see his body from that view on the ground?

The dark sky seemed to grow around the edges of his bleary vision. Very faintly he could make out a strange line of light that seemed to be getting brighter...more wider...engulfing his very being.

Just before Severus was completely shrouded by the blinding light, a thought, just one lone thought crept through his mind: "Prehaps there is a heaven for me after all," and then he vanished.

A breeze danced through the once full clearing that housed an evil man and his followers. A strange ripple caressed the air around the area Severus once previously lay like that of a bellowy blanket atop a clothing line.

The grave-site stayed empty as if there was never a sign of life.

Not one.


End file.
